


Closer Than You Think

by dietplainlite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dating service, F/M, Matchmaking, Reylo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: One night when she felt particularly sorry for herself, Rey signed up on the dating service, figuring somewhere in the galaxy there was someone who wouldn’t find her repulsive. Or terrifying. Or whatever was wrong with her.This, then, must be the universe laughing at her.





	Closer Than You Think

**Author's Note:**

  * For [second_chances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_chances/gifts).



The grainy image is old, taken with tech that was at least a decade out of date--though still the kind of thing she would have been grateful to play around with back on Jakku—and looks like it was taken in the darkest corner of a shadowy cantina. She would have scrolled past, except this is the highest match she’s had since she registered with the matchmaking service several months ago.

The brief description next to the thumbnail picture shows a 95% compatibility rating. He’s human. Interested in all genders and all compatible species. From “all over the galaxy.” A self-described “political brat.” Likes to fly and has a restored Geonosian Solar Sailer. If nothing else, the full profile will have images of the ship, so she touches the screen to expand it, and the profile picture fills the screen.

Oh.

For a moment, she thinks her mind is playing tricks on her. More than once, she’s been certain she’s seen that face in a crowd.  

The person in the image does look different, in some ways. Acne spots are scattered among the moles and freckles, and the thick black hair looks like someone put a bowl on his head and cut off whatever stuck out from underneath. The face is thinner, making the nose and lips look more prominent, as well as the ears.

It’s the ears that seal the deal, so to speak. They are unmistakable. She remembers, clearly, the moment she had noticed them, in a strange moment when she had admired his hair while strapped to an interrogation chair.  Her cheeks burn at the memory.

She shoves the datapad away and groans.  She had only signed up for OKShiraya in a fit of bored loneliness while she had been grounded by an injury. It seemed like everyone around her had found some kind of partner, whether life or temporary. Some of them even found two or more. Leia told her that war tended to have that effect, which didn’t make Rey feel any better. An entire base full of young, desperate, horny rebels with nothing to lose, and she was still alone. So, one night when she felt particularly sorry for herself, she signed up on the dating service, figuring somewhere in the galaxy there was someone who wouldn’t find her repulsive. Or terrifying. Or whatever was wrong with her.

This, then, must be the universe laughing at her.

After a few minutes lying on her bunk and sulking, she picks up the datapad, scrolling quickly past the enlarged profile picture.

She skims an essay about flight sims vs hands on training. “Must be nice to have someone to teach you on a real ship,” she mutters. There’s a list of favorite and least favorite foods, most of which she’s never heard of, much less tried.

“How in the universe did we match?” she whispers.

Further down, there’s a preview for a holo. She hesitates, finger over the image, closes her eyes, and taps it.  The pad’s projector fires up and a flickering hologram coalesces. He’s wearing robes similar to what his uncle wears now, though they’re short in the sleeve and only fall to his ankles.

He looks up and Rey gasps. The same brown eyes with their—stars forgive her—oddly pleasing shape. The same sadness and simmering anger. But there’s something more. It’s hard to tell because the holo quality is so poor but, it might be…kindness.

“Hello,” he says, voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hello. My name is Ben.”  He runs his hand through his hair, but then quickly pushes his hair back over his ears. “22 standard years old. Currently I guess I would say I’m an…explorer? Student of religion? I don’t know.  I do a lot of travelling so if you want to meet I can come wherever with enough notice.” He looks around and lowers his voice. “It would help, though, if you live somewhere historically or spiritually significant.” He looks around again and the holo cuts off.

When it comes back, he’s in a quieter, darker place. Probably the same spot where his profile image was taken.  “Basically my ideal date or meeting would be just to sit somewhere normal like a caf shop or wherever and talk about anything but history. Ships maybe. Or if you’re into racing, I could get us in to see the Gauntlet. I have connections. So. Um. That’s it. Hope to hear from you soon.”

The holo ends and Rey replays it. She starts it a third time, but can’t get past the introduction before fat tears plop down onto the pad, distorting the projection. She turns it off, flips it face down on the bunk and rests her head on her knees.

This bastard.

She doesn’t need this. This _humanity_. The knowledge that he was once just a confused kid, like her, grasping desperately for any kind of connection in a vast, unfeeling galaxy. Longing for one person who doesn’t think, deep down, that she’s some kind of freak.

“A kriffing _caf_ shop,” she laughs as she wipes her eyes. Imagine, sitting down at a tiny table with this man, no this _monster_. Chatting about hyperdrives and fuel cells and laser canons.

She may as well have matched with a dead man, for all the good this does her.

The datapad stays under her pillow for days. She considers deleting her profile altogether, but when she pulls up the site she finds herself watching the holo again.

When she sleeps that night, her dreams are full of him, but not as he is now. He’s still dressed in black, but his hands are bare and his collar is open, showing off his beautiful neck and a hint of collarbone.  The lightsaber clipped to his belt is sleek, nearly seamless, the hilt and emitter crafted from a gleaming red metal. His hair is pulled back and up, revealing his ears, which aren’t so bad, really. He has an easy laugh, which lives mostly in his throat, and he tends to lounge on whatever he rests on, rather than sit.

“Rey,” this Ben/Kylo dream hybrid says, legs thrown over the arm of a chair. He crooks his finger. “Come here.”

She goes toward him, the short distance seeming to expand as she walks, and when she’s close enough, he hooks a hand around the back of her knee and urges her into his lap.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asks.

“What?”

He leans in, cupping the back of her neck with his hand, and whispers in her ear. “Taken whatever you want.”

She wakes, sitting up in bed, gasping and covered in sweat.

Untangling herself from her sheet, she stumbles to the ‘fresher and splashes her face before scooping handfuls of water from the faucet to her mouth.  She can’t handle looking at herself in the mirror so she shuts off the light and crawls back into bed, curling into a ball. There’s no one she can talk about this with. It’s too embarrassing. Too dreadful. Too weird, especially considering the odd flashes she sometimes gets of emotions that aren’t her own.

Well, there is one person. But it’s out of the question. Stupid. Dangerous. Possibly treasonous.

Still. She does have a short leave coming up, and she shouldn’t spend this one sleeping and eating. She summons the datapad out from where she stashed it under the bed. Along with it, she pulls out the small bottle of Tevraki Whiskey she’d gotten through a series of trades. She takes a swig from the bottle, then another, grimacing at the burn in her throat, but relaxing as the warmth travels to her limbs, making her fingertips go all tingly. There’s very little chance this will work, but the courage is useful anyway.

At the bottom of every profile, there’s a crescent shaped button. When tapped, it will send a notification to the other user that you’re interested in talking or meeting.   No matter how unlikely it is that he still monitors whatever account this is connected to, it takes her several minutes—and two more swigs of whiskey—to tap it.  A distinctive “whoosh” sound is followed by a send confirmation. Rey all but tosses the pad back under the bed and buries herself under her blanket.

“He’ll never see it,” she says to herself. “Nothing will come of it.”

She lays with her blanket covering her head, slowing her breathing and whispering assurances to herself. The whiskey does its part in calming her and her consciousness begins to float away, piece by piece into the night.

She’s right at the edge of sleep when she hears it. A muffled “swoosh,” followed by a “ding.”

“Oh, kriff.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome newcomers! You can find me on tumblr at kylo-wouldnt-like-those-chips
> 
> Inspired by this post http://greyjedireylo.tumblr.com/post/164073780213 as well as my friend who did match with her nemesis on OKCupid. 
> 
> Special shoutout to smols-darklighter for naming the dating site.


End file.
